a drug for fallen angels
by gracelessheartlines
Summary: The one where Alec Lightwood is a drug-dealing Shadowhunter.
1. for my bones have found a place

_title:_ **a drug for fallen angels  
** _fandom_ : the mortal instruments  
 _characters_ : alec lightwood (+ et al.)  
 _information_ : AU | multichapter | inspired by kevin zegers' arc on _gossip girl_ as damien dalgaard  
 _summary_ : the one where alec lightwood is a drug-dealing shadowhunter

 **01\. for my bones have found a place**

* * *

The Institute was completely awash in silence. None of the Institute's inhabitants were arguing nor was there any of the usual clamor originating from the weapons room. Alec Lightwood padded quietly down the main foyer of the building, wearing mundane clothing rather than his black Shadowhunter gear. His normal choice of mundane clothing, however, with torn collars and mismatched holes not intended as a fashion statement, was replaced by uncharacteristically new designer clothes.

Alec walked a few blocks away from the Institute before hailing a cab in the chilly fall air. He wound his blue scarf tighter around his neck and hastily directed the driver to East 55th Street. Alec paid the cab driver his fare and walked down the block to the building emblazoned with the number 300. A young man leaned against the old stone infrastructure dressed in an expensive suit and a bored expression plagued on his face.

Having spotted Alec, the man walked towards him. "You must be Alec, Robert's son."

Alec nodded in response. "I don't have much time. Do you have what I asked for?"

The man only shrugged. "Names are only a formality." He motioned for his driver to drive up, and opened the black car door to retrieve a locked briefcase.

He handed it over to Alec, fully aware of its contents. "It's a pleasure doing business with you."

Knowing better than to peer in the case to reaffirm what was inside, Alec began to pull a thick envelope from his coat pocket instead. The man reached out a hand to stop him. "Take the car. Leave the payment under the backseat."

Partially relieved the exchange would be quicker than most, Alec ducked inside the door and gave an address a couple of buildings away from the New York Institute to the driver. He removed the stuffed envelope from his pocket again, and ensuring the driver was not looking at him through the review mirror, proceeded to hide it under the backseat. A crumpled piece of paper fell down at his feet, featuring the scrawl of the numbers "143." Alec slipped the paper scrap in his pocket and put his payment in its place.

The payment was done in full, more than enough to cover the stock in his briefcase. The weight of it told him he had not been cheated, although it was the first time he had bought from this particular supplier. His last supplier had unwittingly chosen to work in the direct company of demons. When one of them caught wind of what she was doing, Isabelle found the mutilated remains of her body in the back alley of Taki's.

Alec had heard of the man through the network of illicit drug dens that had recently sprung up over New York, who claimed this particular dealer had quality supply directly siphoned from the dens of London. Arranging a meeting had been more complicated than Alec had anticipated. The man had insisted the exchange be conducted out in the open street, but otherwise the trade would have fallen through and Alec would have been faced with hungry, demanding customers.

He meticulously chose the day where the Institute would be empty, all except for him. His parents were in Idris to deal with matters of the Clave, Jace had his tongue down Clary's throat somewhere in Central Park, and Isabelle had gone off to watch Simon's band play a gig at a hipster coffee shop.

/

Alec crept up the stairs of the Institute, briefcase in hand and the crumpled sheet of paper in his pocket. Isabelle and Jace had not returned from their dates, much to his relief. He pushed aside a pile of demonology textbooks at the foot of his bed to make room for the briefcase. The knobs of the lock were turned to the combination "1-4-3," where it opened with a resounding click.

Spilling out of the briefcase was packet upon packet of yin fen, a silver powder extracted from demons and specially curated in certain circles of warlocks. It had recently become a trend in Downworlder clubs. Occasionally, Alec was able to discreetly make transactions with desperate Downworlders while hunting with Jace, Isabelle, and Clary. Jace would be fixated on Clary or making the most sarcastic remarks possible about the situation, whereas Isabelle would be busy flirting and smiling her way through the place. Left lingering in the background, Alec would slip away for moments at a time with a packet and returning with a small wad of cash.

Alec fetched a book on healing, _The Shadowhunter's Guide to Not Dying When Runes Don't Work_ , from the bottom of his bed. It had been hollowed out to create a temporary storage chest. Carefully, he removed each of the packets and lined the inside of the old book. When the briefcase was emptied out, Alec slipped in the first few pages of the book above the yin fen to conceal it.

Alec took the briefcase and yin fen-filled book and placed it behind a loose wall panel in his closet. The panel of wood was obscured from view by a mandelin and covered by a few of Alec's oldest and arguably beyond the days of being worn sweaters. He rummaged around on his bedside table for his stele, before scribbling a quick mandelin on the briefcase. It vanished from view by a simple glamour, but made note he would have to dispose of it soon.

He changed into more comfortable yet ripped clothing to avoid questions, although it would be more like congratulations from his siblings on his newer, hole-free clothing. Shutting the closet door, Alec wandered downstairs to the library to preoccupy himself until Jace or Isabelle came home to tell stories of their adventures out in the world, where they were not holed up in a velvet armchair reading books on Shadowhunter and Downworlder relations before the Accords.

/

"Have you been reading the entire day?" Jace's voice carried from the doorway. He ran down the steps leading to the main parlor of the library, feet thundering.

Alec tore his eyes away from _Shadowhunter and Downworlder Relations Through the Centuries_ to glance up at Jace's figure, leaned against the banister. "I'm up to the section about disgraced Shadowhunters, the ones who enjoy the company of demons more than they should. Iblis demons are some of the most popular."

"Fascinating stuff." Jace launched himself into the sofa closest to Alec. "At least Iblis demons are shaped like a human. That should make things a bit easier."

Alec ripped a piece of the paper scrap in his pocket to use as a bookmark. The number "1" stuck out on a page detailing the convoluted history of Carson Hightower and his Iblis lover. "I'm guessing your date with Clary went well?"

"It was great, but I have a feeling I enjoyed it more than she did."

"You took her to Central Park, didn't you? Aren't girls supposed to like that sort of stuff?"

"I'm sure you're an expert on what girls like and don't like." Jace laughed. "You should write your own book on it. I'm sure the rest of the hopeless male population will worship your advice on pleasing the women in their lives."

Alec gave Jace an annoyed look. He crumpled up the rest of the paper, now reading "43," and chucked it at Jace's head. Deftly, Jace caught the paper ball in midair and proceeded to throw it into the fireplace.

"Ran into a hydra demon. Clary thought it would be a good idea to behead a few of its heads." Alec opened his mouth to interject that Clary had done the worst thing possible when facing a hydra demon, but Jace continued on, knowing what Alec was about to say."I could have told her that two more heads would sprout up in its place if I wasn't busy laughing at her. I slashed at it a few times with my seraph blade, easy enough. The conclusion of my date featured a dead hydra demon and an angry girlfriend."

"Angry?" Alec asked, doubting Clary had the capacity to stay infuriated with Jace for long.

"For a total of one minute; it was a new record."

"I don't think so. Remember that time you she caught you —," Alec started.

Jace waved him off. "We don't need to talk about that."

"Don't need to talk about what?" Isabelle emerged from the hallway and made a motion for Jace to scoot over.

"Alec here was giving me advice on how to talk to girls. They're tricky little things, you see," said Jace. Isabelle smacked him in the arm.

"Yes, because Alec's such an expert on these things." Isabelle settled herself against the far end of the sofa.

"That's what I said," Jace remarked.

Alec deliberated throwing his book at either his sister or parabatai, but thought better of it, since he would be the one responsible for applying the irtaze. "You two are fantastic company, did you know that?"

/

Isabelle was scurrying around the kitchen, throwing ingredients into pots and giving it the occasional stir. "This will taste better than last time, I promise."

Simon lounged on a stool by the kitchen counter, animatedly arguing with Clary over the appropriateness that was Eric's newest batch of lyrics for _The Biting Spirals_.

"'Hooked on you like the cocaine in my veins; Feel free to dangle me from those metal chains' is not something you should be singing in front of ten-year olds," Clary said exasperatedly.

"It's not Simon's fault the only audience he gets are pubescent preteen girls," interjected Isabelle. She tasted some of what she had bubbling in a nearby pot and frowned at the foreign taste. Trying to remedy the food, she removed a small rack of spices from the cupboard.

Simon made a face. "Last time I checked, Isabelle, you were not a pubescent preteen girl."

"No, but she cooks like a toddler," said Jace. He was leaning over the edge of the counter, making an effort to decipher what the clump of food in the pot was supposed to be.

Isabelle wacked him with her wooden spoon, smearing the brownish liquid on his arm. "Be careful, you're running out jokes when it comes to my cooking."

"No, I don't think so." Jace hopped over the kitchen counter, and despite herself, Clary gave a small scream. He ran his arm under the sink, where the brown liquid swirled with the rushing water and created a slimy mess. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Stew," Isabelle answered, as if Jace has just asked her if there were any carbs in eating paper.

Alec, who had been occupied by reading about Carson Hightower's untimely death at the far corner of the kitchen counter, snapped his eyes away from how the Iblis demon had bound the naked Shadowhunter to a bedpost and tortured him to death. Why someone would think write a detailed account of the event was beyond him. "Stew?" he said cautiously, as if the word was a loaded grenade bound to explode in his face.

Isabelle rolled her eyes and gesticulated wildly at the stove. "Yeah, stew. You've eaten stew before, haven't you, Alec?"

"I've eaten stew, and then I've eaten your stew. They're two very different things."

His sister huffed and brandished her wooden spoon his direction. "Do I need to hit you with this spoon too?"

/

The five of them gathered in the main atrium of the Institute, all in various stages of formalwear. Isabelle was wearing an outfit typical for Isabelle, although Clary looked like she spun around in Isabelle's closet a few times and ended up with what she was wearing. She had insisted they attend a Downworlder party of a prominent vampire in mundane society. Alec's sister had all but blackmailed Alec into going, who appeared to hesitantly capitulate to his sister's threats, yet had intended to drop in and meet with clientele nevertheless.

Isabelle forbade anyone from bringing Shadowhunter gear, and drew the line at two seraph blades each, as long as they were hidden from view. She ignored all of Jace's protests, but unbeknownst to her, he had hidden several more. His success had lasted until they were about to leave and Simon pointed out something sharp and shiny sticking out from his belt.

"Isabelle, you can't expect us to go to a Downworlder party unarmed," Jace reluctantly pulled two seraph blades under his shirt and handed it to her.

She took them and deposited them in a drawer by the door. "For once, can we go to a party and not have everyone think we're there to chop their head off?"

"That's what we do."

"We do that 95% of the time. This is that lone 5% where we enjoy ourselves, even you Alec, and return home without being covered in blood and dirt." Isabelle made a motion with her finger for Jace to turn around, on the hunt for more hidden weapons.

"I find blood and dirt are fashionable accessories, but that could just be me." Jace quickly spun his heel, a blink or you'll miss it moment, before wrenching open the Institute door. "Are we going to this thing or what?"

* * *

 ** _author's note_**

started august 2014, recently revived. chapter two is already written.  
AU, borderline crack!fic that occasionally takes itself much too seriously at times. this isn't my area of expertise, but it is shameless fun.  
inspired by kevin zeger's arc on gossip girl as damien dalgaard; all season three and four episodes featuring kevin zegers' were marathoned.


	2. after my blood turns into alcohol

_title:_ **a drug for fallen angels  
** _fandom_ : the mortal instruments  
 _characters_ : alec lightwood (+ et al.)  
 _information_ : AU | multichapter | inspired by kevin zegers' arc on _gossip girl_ as damien dalgaard  
 _summary_ : the one where alec lightwood is a drug-dealing shadowhunter

 **02\. after my blood turns into alcohol**

* * *

Obnoxious mundane music was blasting from the penthouse suite, drinks of multicolor were flowing in oddly shaped glasses, and people were buzzing about as if they had no care in the world. The whole affair was raucous and reckless, the crowd pulsating and thundering into the late hours of night.

Isabelle had dragged Simon into the crowd, urging him to stray as far away from the selection of drinks as possible, even though he was no longer a mundane. Jace and Clary were probably making out in the corner of the room for all to see, not that extreme face-sucking was an uncommon sight at a Downworlder party.

Alec stowed himself away at a table in the far corner of the room and preoccupied himself by tracing patterns on the floor. He had gone relatively unnoticed for the first hour, keeping to himself as the party got bigger and the screams got louder.

Footsteps approached him after a while, drawing his attention from the floor. A teenager, no older than sixteen, took the empty stool beside Alec. Years of lessons and reading instinctively told him his customer was a werewolf, one much older than he appeared.

"Enjoying the party?" the werewolf inquired nonchalantly.

Alec gave a noncommittal shrug and reached down his coat pocket for a small packet of silver powder. He discreetly pulled it out, but at a party as riotous as this, there wouldn't be anyone fixated on Shadowhunters sitting in a corner by themselves.

"I heard you have the best out of everyone here tonight." The werewolf removed a few loose bills from his pocket and placed it under his drink. He slid his drink toward Alec, who picked it up with mild interest.

Alec pretended to bring the drink up to lips and swiped the money into his free hand. With his other hand, Alec removed the yin fen and slid it toward to werewolf under the table. The werewolf nodded and slipped away into the crowd, leaving Alec by himself in the dim light of the party.

/

Over the course of the night, Alec made several more transactions until his stock had nearly run out. Yin fen was freely circulating around the party by now, but Jace and Isabelle had enough mind to stay away from anything that was offered to them, even though anything they acquired for themselves would be fair game.

Vampires, fae, and werewolves stumbled about as if in a trance, brought on by the high of the yin fen. They danced and they partied, delirious and held firmly under the influence of demon powder. A few had caught on the Shadowhunter in the corner was responsible for the quality stuff, but most dismissed it as mere rumors and proceeded to obtain their powder from their ifrit dealers in the center of the room.

Alec attempted to keep a low cover, switching tables after a few customers and going as far as marking some of the packets with a mandelin. The glamour would be weak, yet it would suffice to keep his exchanges low key as those without yin fen were prowling the penthouse for dealers.

Several times, Alec noticed vampires slipping a bit of yin fen into the unsuspecting drinks of werewolves and vice versa. Opting to stay out of any conflicts that would arise, he moved away from the area and sold to the next. The werewolves, however, seemed to be getting the greatest kick from the silver powder. Their eyes were ablaze with fire, stimulating their every sense and providing them with a torrent of power and stamina.

If anyone was to overdose and die, the party would promptly end much to the disappointment of all the attendees. Those with free access to the substance made sure to regulate how much of it was consumed; nothing spoiled a proper Downworlder carouse like death.

/

Sometime past midnight, Jace drunkenly stumbled around the room in search of his parabatai, Clary in tow. Alec's last customer, a rather pretty nymph with waistlength hair, had just left his table. Jace slipped into the seat previously occupied by the nymph, and Clary sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Did you drink something tonight? Are you suddenly exploring the wonders that is the opposite gender?" Jace slurred, his ability to snark not deterred by his inebriation. Alec did not deign himself to respond to an intoxicated Jace and decided that even if he did not answer him, Jace wouldn't notice since he was currently lost in Clary's red hair.

"Your eyes are like a pot of gold. I want to climb rainbows to get to you, because Jace, you are a pot of gold." Clary wrapped her arms possessively around Jace. Alec, who had succumbed to thirst and sought out what he believed was an untainted glass of water, almost choked.

Jace seemed to have not heard Clary compare him to a pot of gold because he ran his fingers through her hair and turned to Alec. "This is a great party. This is a Magnus-level party. This may even surpass a Magnus-level party." Jace paused for a moment and looked around, suddenly thoughtful. "Wait, where is Magnus?" he whispered lowly, as if it was a great secret and he held the key to the universe.

"He's trying to sort out what he claims to be a misunderstanding with the Argentinean authorities. He doesn't want to be banned from half of South America." Alec responded. According to Magnus' most recent text, he would be home tomorrow night at the earliest, even if his appeal wasn't likely to succeed. There was a mention of Peru coming back to haunt him in the most unfavorable of situations.

Jace nodded, eyes filled with wonder. Clary let out a high pitched giggle and took another sip of her drink. "Jace, Jace, do you see the rainbow? Will you be the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow?" She pushed back her hair, pulling it up into a bun and releasing it. "I think I'm too close to the sun, careful, we're too close to the sun. We're going to burn Jace, I feel like we are going to burn." Alec, apparently the only one not drunk at the table, forced down his laughter.

"It is so hot. I feel like I am burning. Jace, why is there fire? I—" Clary paused "I am the girl on fire," Clary finished, very proud of herself.

Jace sloppily kissed her forehead, then quickly backed away when he felt the heat. His face sobered slightly and he put his hand against her forehead. "Alec, she really is burning."

Clary played with a lock of her red hair, fascinated by the color. "There is fire on my head, look, look, there is fire on my head. Will it burn into my brain?" Her eyes widened with fear, suddenly realizing something. "My head is on fire, help me, Jace." She seized his hand and clutched it, waving her head around to extinguish the imaginary fire.

Alec laughed at Clary's antics, but stopped the moment his fingers touched her head. Jace was right, Clary's head was burning hot. A mundane would assume she had a high fever, but she was running a temperature comparable to what you would need to bake a cake.

Clary reached for the rest of her drink, and noticing the color of the drink, Alec snatched it from her hands and threw its contents onto an unsuspecting selkie. The liquid was a transparent milky white, an appearance similar to milk diluted with water.

Clary screamed out in frustration and wacked her hair in Alec's face, whose mouth caught strands of her red hair. "My drink!" she cried and tried to reach across the table and wrench the glass from Alec's grace. "I hope your face burns because this fire hurts."

She let out a low wail. A group of vampires turned in her direction, amused by the half insane Shadowhunter. Jace turned to look at them, and the second he did, most of them suddenly found the floor as interesting as Alec had earlier in the night.

Alec examined that last few drops of the drink that remained in the glass. Noting a tiny fleck of silver that didn't quite dissolve on the rim of the glass, he turned to Jace. "There's yin fen in this." Conscious of the potential repercussions if Clary had been drinking from liquids mixed with silver powder the entire night, he told Jace they had to leave immediately.

Jace stared at him skeptically. "Yin fen? Don't Downworlders get high off of that stuff? I would know to stay away."

"Clary wouldn't." Alec pointed over to Clary, who's eyes were squinted in concentration and hands attempting to pull out long chunks of hair. "We have to leave and treat her. Do you know where Isabelle and Simon are?"

Jace had nearly completely sobered up after realizing his girlfriend might have imbibed dangerous levels of a drug. "They left."

Alec's eyes flared, a reaction brought on by years of brotherly instinct. "What do you mean they left?" he demanded.

Jace shrugged. "I may or may not have told them to get a room earlier tonight."

"I always say the same thing to you, but that doesn't mean you ever listen."

Jace held up his hands placatingly. "They're probably at the Institute, and you can probably guess where. We won't find out until we get back."Jace propped a still hysterical Clary against his shoulder. She had fallen silent for the most part, now whimpering and muttering incoherently about a fire that would devour her. Alec helped support the other side of her, and the three of them made their way through the crowd and to the door.

The thundering music, the hazy smoke, and the yin fen induced insanity slowly receded from their senses as they got further away from the penthouse, but was sharpened every time a deathly pale Clary made so much as a noise. They stumbled occasionally, since Jace was still heavily intoxicated—the rune of equilibrium did not seem to apply when one was drunk—yet lucid enough to narrowly avoid getting run over by an oncoming taxi cab.

/

The three of them stumbled through the front door and heaved Clary onto the bed in her room at the Institute. Jace was frantic with worry, if not groggy from the amount of alcohol he drank. Isabelle and Simon emerged from Isabelle's room looking considerably disheveled after hearing the loud noise that was Clary banging her head against the headboard. Jace took her head into his lap and stroked her hair; she muttered on about her rainbow going up in flames.

"She might have overdosed on yin fen, which is fatal. Clary's showing a textbook case of overdose, with her hallucinations, the paleness of her skin, and the burning sensation she is feeling," Alec said, recalling what he had red in books and stories his customers had detailed during certain exchanges. "It's slowly killing her," he finished softly, acknowledging the reality of what no one in the room wanted to believe.

"It's a good thing you read textbooks all the time. I was thinking all that time alone was going to a waste," said Jace dryly, carefully etching iratzes and healing runes onto Clary's skin. A few seconds after every application, the black rune dissolved into her skin, leaving Clary breathing heavily and thrashing widely in Jace's grasp.

"The runes aren't working," Isabelle said and set her stele aside. "Hodge never covered what we're supposed to do when we overdose on demon drugs."

"Don't any of you have a copy of The Shadowhunter's Guide to Not Dying When Runes Don't Work or something?" exclaimed Simon, clutching Clary's burning hand. Alec's heart skipped a beat and his face paled, even if it was highly unlikely Simon knew about his copy of the book and the drugs inside. The probability of that was nearly equal to the probability that Clary would magically heal and start tap dancing on the roof with an umbrella.

Jace's eyes lit up for a moment. "In fact, I think Alec has a copy of that."

Alec hesitated and slowly answered with, "It might be in the downstairs library, but I don't think drug overdoses are covered in it."

Isabelle jumped off Clary's bed. "It's worth a try. I'll look for it downstairs and see if I can come up with anything else."

"What other options do we have? Your parents are still in Idris and Clary's parents are off gallivanting the world on their honeymoon," stated Simon.

"Do the Silent Brothers treat teenagers who have overdosed on yin fen, or is it not covered in their training?" said Jace humorlessly.

"We need a skilled warlock to heal her. Yin fen is cultivated in some warlock dens, sometimes by ifrits. That's her best chance," Alec spoke from his chair in the corner of her room.

"What about Magnus?" Simon piped up, his eyes hopeful.

"Magnus is currently in Argentina sorting out something he refuses to tell me about," Alec replied, slightly irritated their solution to every problem they encountered was to bother his boyfriend for assistance.

Jace opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of if Alec needed Magnus back in New York for something urgent, he would portal back in less than an hour regardless of what he was or wasn't wearing.

"Don't Shadowhunters have a phonebook of warlocks to use at their disposal?" Simon asked, saving Jace from an annoyed look or five.

"As a matter of fact, we do," said Isabelle. She leaned against the doorframe, bearing an armful of worn leather books of varying sizes. Isabelle threw them at her feet and plucked out the largest volume, bound in red with golden lettering on the cover.

* * *

 **(author's note)  
** chapter three is in the works; things only go downhill from here.  
it's been well over a year or two since my last read of the series, so thank you to the TMI wikis of the internet.


	3. don't you dare look back

_title:_ **a drug for fallen angels  
** _fandom_ : the mortal instruments  
 _characters_ : alec lightwood (+ et al.)  
 _information_ : AU | multichapter | inspired by kevin zegers' arc on _gossip girl_ as damien dalgaard  
 _summary_ : the one where alec lightwood is a drug-dealing shadowhunter

 **03\. don't you dare look back**

* * *

Simon had very specific criteria for choosing the best warlock to treat Clary. Isabelle suggested closing her eyes and calling the first warlock her finger landed on, but Simon protested with, "You can't just close your eyes and pick a warlock. He needs to be confident with treating demon drugs in unsuspecting teenagers."

"For once, I agree with that guy," Jace remarked and casually jerked his thumb toward Simon.

Jace's statement did not go unnoticed by Simon. "Thanks." Simon pulled the phonebook out of Isabelle's hands and thumbed through the pages.

"Check the sections on 'working under pressure' and 'training in demonology,'" said Jace. Simon gave Jace a thumbs up and scribbled names onto a nearby notepad.

Jace's hands were still laced with Clary's. Clary was running a high fever, but some color returned to her cheeks. Her body was probably tired after the night's events, and so Clary was lulled into a soft sleep. She whimpered from the pain every few minutes, which prompted Jace to tighten his grip on Clary. Jace seemed to believe that if he left Clary's bedside, Clary would be lost to him forever.

Alec felt a wave of guilt and a strong sense of responsibility almost for Clary's near-overdose. He entertained the idea that the yin fen he sold last night was not accountable for Clary's current state; however, based on the potency of the drug, it had was almost wholly certain that it had come from Alec's stock. He had to set things right and make sure Clary came out of this alive.

After a few minutes of flipping and scribbling, Simon triumphantly pointed to a name circled on his notepad. "Malcolm Severclean!" Simon exclaimed. "He's perfect for the job. We should call him as soon as possible, it says most severe cases within the first seventy-two hours are curable."

Alec gestured for Isabelle to bring the notepad closer to. Under Malcom Severclean's was an out-of-state phone number and Simon's scribbles about "drug supplier back in the day," "wicked fashion sense," and "94% success rate or money back."

"Someone remind me why we can't use Magnus again?" Jace inquired. "Can we trust someone named Maxim Silverteen?" Everyone turned to look at Alec.

"His name is Malcom Severclean." Alec rolled his eyes. "I tried texting Magnus earlier. He's caught up with the Argentinian authorities and probably won't make it back in time to treat Clary."

In truth, Alec hadn't texted Magnus at all. If Magnus caught wind that Alec desperately needed him back in New York, Magnus would do everything in his power––even despite his current predicament with the Argentinian authorities––to get back to new York. That was exactly what Alec didn't want.

Magnus was smart. He would be able to connect Clary with the fancy Downworlder party to the yin fen supply and it would somehow come back to haunt Alec. The situation was already doing enough damage to Clary.

"Maxwell Leverspleen it is." Jace announced.

Alec pulled out his phone and punched in Malcom's phone number. "Hello?"

/

The conversation with Malcom Severclean went pleasantly enough. He answered after the first ring and initially declined the offer to treat Clary at such a late hour. After name-dropping Maryse Lightwood was his mother, Malcom agreed immediately to offer his services free of charge. Apparently Malcom and the Trueblood lineage, Maryse's maiden name, went way back.

Malcom said he would be in New York in three hours, which would give him enough time to collect some potion ingredients. He would call Alec when he was close. Everyone in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief after Malcom's reassurances.

Alec suggested they contact Jocelyn, but his idea was quickly shot down by Isabelle. "Let's wait until we hear from Malcom or else Clary will get locked up in a tower and will never be able to go to a party ever again." Jace had begrudgingly agreed to Isabelle's request.

It had been four hours since the phone call. Starring at his inactive phone, Alec found his frustration mounting. Alec was staring at Jace, who continued to dote over Clary's dormant figure. Simon and Isabelle said they were going downstairs to brew coffee two hours; who knew what they were doing now.

The room was quiet except for the occasional whimper from Clary. Sunlight began to trickle in from the curtains. Alec rose to close them shut to ensure Clary would not be disturbed from her trance, sleep-like state.

"He still hasn't called yet?" Jace inquired softly.

Alec glanced at his phone again. "No."

Jace nodded. "Should we call another warlock?"

"Warlocks are very territorial over their patients. If Malcom found out if we were considering another Warlock in his place, it might get ugly."

"Seriously?" Jace said, raising an eyebrow.

"You should have paid more attention when we were studying the unit on Warlock Diplomacy."

Jace scoffed. "I don't think it was the class that made you an expert on warlocks."

Alec ignored Jace's statement and sat back down. Secretly, Alec was glad Jace was still able to crack a joke under dire circumstances.

/

Alec picked up his phone on the first ring. His ringtone was a loud mundane song Magnus had set before he left for Argentina, claiming Alec needed to become more wary of popular culture.

"Alec?" crackled a voice.

"Yes, this is he." Alec breathed an internal sigh of relief. Maybe Malcolm would pull through after all and Jace wouldn't hate Alec forever for poisoning his girlfriend with demon drugs.

"You're too late." The call disconnected.

Alec stared at his phone confusedly and tried to call the number again. Instead of hearing the voice from a few moments ago, a chirpy "You have reached a number that does not exist" sounded from the speaker.

Jace peered over to assess the situation. Alec waved Jace away and redialed the phone number Simon had found in the directory. The call went straight to voicemail.

"It was Malcolm, at least I think it was Malcolm. He asked for me and then said 'You're too late,' whatever that means," Alec announced after his third attempt to reestablish contact.

"Let's call another warlock. I'm choosing on this time since the rest of you are incapable of handling the situation." Jace gestured for Isabelle to hand over the phone directory.

Isabelle shook her head. "Malcolm was the best chance we had; no one else is more qualified than he ways."

"I don't believe that for one second. Hand it over, Isabelle."

Simon stepped in between Jace and Isabelle. "Clary isn't getting any better while you two argue over the next most eligible warlock."

"Stay out of this Simon." Jace pushed the sleeves of his shirt up.

"If you haven't realized, my best friend is lying unconscious in bed because you were too busy making out with her to notice she was being poisoned by Chinese demon drugs." Simon's voice rose with every word. "Spare us the 'I'm the only one that cares for Clary lecture' and do something other than whine about it."

Jace shushed him. "Shut up."

Simon huffed indignantly. "No, I will not."

Jace rolled his eyes. "No, shut up. Did you hear that?"

There was a heavy knock on the Institute door.

"Could that be him?" Isabelle asked.

"How is that possible? It's already been ten minutes since the cryptic phone message?" said Alec.

"Unless…" Simon began.

The four of them raced downstairs in a hurry. Jace threw open the heavy wooden door of the Institute, but instead of a dapper young warlock standing on their front stoop, there was a beaten leather briefcase in its place.

"I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that," quipped Simon.

Alec reached over and popped open the briefcase. It contained a small card of yellowed paper. The smudged typewritten message read "Malcom Severclear is dead; Try Again."

Jace clenched his fist and kicked the briefcase aside. Isabelle stared at the overturned briefcase with a perplexed look and held out her hands to calm Jace's temper.

"There's something on the back," piped Simon. He gestured for Alec to read the message.

Alec turned the card over. Smeared on the back in dried blood were the numbers "143."

* * *

 **(author's note)**

This story has been fully plotted out on a notepad somewhere on my desk. there will be 10 chapters, actually 9 + an epilogue, and they will feature some intense crossovers into the _gossip girl_ world.

Chapter four, which will be written eventually, will jump back to the original premise of Alec as a drug-dealer. Magnus will pop up soon; Magnus always has bad luck in South America.


End file.
